Just Call My Name
by SUPRNTRAL LVR
Summary: Set directly after the first series. Nathan wakes up in his coffin, and things quickly go from bad to worse. Immortal or not, things are going wrong... Can the others find him before its too late?
1. What Lies Beneath

**Hey guys,**

**This is the first Misfits fanfiction I've written, and as a result its probably pretty amateur :D I'm not all that familiar with the series, so please forgive me if I get some of the details wrong. Anyway, this is set directly after the end of the first series, so SPOILER ALERT. As a warning, there will probably be some Kelly/Nathan in later chapters. If there are later chapters, that is. :D**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Misfits.**

Heavy, thick, dry air that smelt of death. Darkness pressing in on all sides that looked like death. Silence screaming in his ears that sounded like death. And, of course, what could feel more like death than the silk of a brand new coffin, prepared to carry its lifeless corpse into the afterlife or non-afterlife or whatever waited in the 'beyond.' Death was all around him; death lay heavy in his mouth and in his ears and in his hands like a disease that had crawled into his body and taken hold of it. It sniggered at him from the corners of his coffin and brushed his face with ghostly fingers and teased him with the occasional trickle of shifting dirt that could have heralded a rescue, but always turned out to be nothing. Death surrounded him like a curse.

And yet, Nathan lay six feet below the cold ground, surrounded by death and yet somehow alive. And it would have been immortality. It was typical for him to have been stuck with a power that was next to useless, if only to render him recyclable in a sticky situation. It could have been anything - the ability to transport himself from place to place in the blink of an eye, the power to fly faster than god-damn superman, the chance to run faster than any other living thing in existence, hell the ability to render clothing invisible... anything would have been better than this.

_Fuck, _he thought suddenly, scowling. _I'm never going to find out what happens when you get offed. Fuck!_

He lashed out with one foot at the lid of the coffin, more out of exasperation than in any real escape attempt. He had contemplated performing a 'Kill Bill' move and simply climbing up through the earth, but after attempting to punch the lid of the coffin had earned himself nothing but bleeding knuckles and had given up. Yes, he had been beaten by an American blonde who apparently could punch through solid wood. Freak. That power would have been handy at this moment...

Without his I-pod - which had mocked him by dying itself after a few hours - the world was terrifyingly dark and silent. He had no idea how long he had been trapped down here for, no idea how much longer it would be before he was rescued... and rescued by who? He had no mobile, no way of communicating to the rest of the world, and no ideas at all. His mind went round and round in helpless circles, always returning to the same cold fact - he was screwed. Totally and completely screwed to hell and back again, quite literally.

He stared at the darkness above him and rubbed his chest absently, wincing. It hurt a lot. He hadn't had a chance to look, but he could feel a definite lump where the post had emerged from his chest. How did this immortality even work? Was he still going to bear scars, or would they all simply vanish? Would the wounds disappear when he came back to life, or just hamper him naturally? He couldn't feel any blood, but the area seared with pain if he pressed down too hard or twisted his chest. Come to think of it, his head was pounding too. And he was hungry. And sweat was clinging to his skin even though it was damn cold, and his hands were clammy, and his lungs were aching again...

Fuck.

He slipped away from himself for the fifth time. When he opened his eyes, he had no idea how much time had passed. The first time he had suffocated inside his coffin, he had been able to estimate by the number of songs that had passed on his I-pod that he had been dead for at least a day. Every time was chilling, and every time he remembered nothing of 'death', or whatever it was he did. Each time he returned to life, he lived for at least five hours before dying again. He had no idea how it worked - perhaps when he died the coffin somehow managed to fill up with air again from tiny holes in the earth or whatever. He didn't really care. He just wanted out.

He swallowed hard. His throat had turned hoarse and painful, only worsening as time crawled by, but shouting was the only plan he had that had half a chance of working. If anyone heard him, if anyone listened... well, it was a pathetic plan. He took a deep breath.

"Hey!" he yelled dryly, his voice grating and thin. "Hey! Get me outta here you dicks! Hey! I'm alive, fucking alive! Get me out! Hey!"

His voice deteriorated further with every passing second, and he could have sworn as he lay there in the blackness that somewhere death was laughing its fucking head off at him.

* * *

Simon didn't like to make an occasion of it. He didn't like people seeing him there - if there was anyone else in the graveyard at the same time as himself, he would quickly switch his body into invisible and complete his visit in complete silence to avoid discovery. He didn't come at the same time as Kelly, and if when he arrived she was already there he would lurk in the shadows of the graves around her invisible until she left. It had become a habit, a ritual, and he could no longer put it off. And so, every day, whether in the morning or late at night, he found himself slinking into the graveyard and standing awkwardly beside Nathan's grave until his hands turned numb with the cold, and he could no longer endure the silence.

It was as if he was guilty to be there, crouched on his heels beside the place Nathan had been buried. Like the area had a sign over it reading 'Friends or family only. Visitors who barely knew or liked the deceased are not welcome.' It would surely be less strange to just visit with Kelly, or better yet not visit at all and just go home like everyone else. But the sight of Kelly made his stomach clench. He knew she didn't blame him - she understood, she didn't ever complain that he hadn't tried to do something. He thought she had liked the DVD he had made her; she had smiled at him the next day in a way that could have meant a little more than 'thank you', if you really looked... but he couldn't have those kinds of thoughts about her. Especially not now, with Nathan barely in the ground. Especially not when he had been setting a date in his diary for a corpse in a freezer for the past few days...

He wondered if crazy people ever wondered if they were crazy, or if they just believed they were completely sane. He wasn't sure what he thought.

The ground was damp, and the air was cold. Plumes of smoke roared from his nose as he pushed himself up to his feet, his visit complete for the day. He stared down at Nathan's tombstone for a few moments longer, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. It had all been so very fast, when it had happened. He had just slipped, his fingers had vanished from Simon's grasp, and then he was gone. Scarlet blood on metal, on concrete. Bloodless skin. Strange that those kinds of images didn't bother Simon any more. Considering all that had happened since, he no longer had any reason to feel sick at the sight of death. He shut his eyes for a moment, and then flinched sharply as a muffled cry reached his ears, barely there. He whirled around, flickering invisible at once, certain that he had been caught. He didn't want anyone to see, no one should know... His eyes roved over the motionless grey stone, the shadowed corners of the graveyard. No one. No one was there. So now he was going to start hearing voices. Perfect.

He huffed angrily, shook himself. And he had barely taken a single step away from the grave when the sound came again - like someone standing behind him, shouting through a pillow. He span in a full circle, crying out in surprise, his fists clenching tightly at his sides. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. The graveyard stared back at him, simple, normal, and completely empty. No stranger emerged from the darkness, no figure was walking towards him along the paths. He was completely alone. And as he stood in the cold air, listening to the strange, mumbled scream come again and again, he came to the realization that it was coming from beneath him. Which was stupid. Which was impossible. And yet... He found himself kneeling, pressing his ear to the grass. Silence. No, there it was again. He could hear it, it was real, whatever 'it' was...

Unless...

He didn't let himself finish the thought. He just stayed hunched over on the ground, ear pressed to the mud, listening, holding his breath. And just as suddenly as they had come, the cries vanished once more. As if they had never been there. As if he had simply imagined the whole damn thing. He rose slowly to his feet, gazing at the grave. At Nathan's grave.

He was late.

He turned his back on the grave and strode away towards the gates, his hands buried in his pockets, his head bent. He didn't let himself look back. And yet, with every step he took, he grew more certain that he had not imaged it, that he truly had heard Nathan screaming at him from somewhere below the ground... He didn't know what to think. So he just kept walking.

* * *

He couldn't keep shouting this time. His body wouldn't take it. His head thudded with raw agony every time he lifted his voice above a whisper, his throat ached, his chest seared. The icy cold of the earth was eating into his skin, sending sudden, violent shivers through him that only made him ache even more. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for a miracle, then screamed and swore, and then just lay still. He could hear himself hyperventilating again. Maybe if he died enough times he would eventually just stay dead... he clawed a clammy hand through his curly hair, struggling to find his way to a single clear thought.

One thing was very obvious. He was steadily feeling worse and worse. He could not go on like this, couldn't endure this kind of hell for much longer. He could tell that something was wrong with him, whether it was the hard, painful lump in his chest or the throb in his head or the shivery, icy skin clinging to him. He could no longer tell if his eyes were open or closed.

"Shit," he breathed, his own voice unrecognisable to his ears. "Shit. Kelly. Shit."

**This was shorter than usual, hope you enjoyed it anyway. Reviews are welcome. Not sure whether to continue with this or not.**

**Thanks for reading.**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	2. Give Me A Sign

**Disclaimer: I don't own Misfits. Includes strong language.**

**The reviews were much appreciated :)**

In the two weeks that had stumbled by since Nathan's death, Kelly had found it difficult to smile. The DVD Simon had made for her helped a little, but when the screen turned black it always left her with nothing but a gnawing hole in her stomach and the knowledge of that cold finality that meant Nathan was gone for good. The world was quieter without him, emptier. As if not only Nathan, but half the living things on the planet had vanished too to leave nothing but silence. Panting benches and cleaning fences for most of the day didn't help to focus her mind - the paint would run between her fingers and only serve to remind her of that sticky red substance that had covered her hands at that terrible moment. And so instead she sat and stared at nothing and tried to bully herself into doing something useful, while Simon picked up the slack for her.

He had changed in the last few days. He wasn't caring - his eyes still harboured thoughts that she didn't want to know, and he always made sure to keep a short distance from anyone and anything around him, and his pale bony hands clenched tightly over whatever he was holding in a death grip - but he was certainly sensitive to her moods. Sometimes he would intentionally screw up his face and thing 'You okay?' and wait for her to nod before returning to his tasks. His behaviour was unexpected, but not necessarily unwelcome. Curtis, too, was understanding, but seemed to want to keep his distance, as if worried if he came to close or prodded some raw nerve she would spit venom at him.

Alisha was a little less gentle.

"For god's sake, will you stop moping!" she burst out, flinging her hands up in the air. "Are you just gonna be like this forever? You're pissing me off so much right now!"

She shook off Curtis' restraining hand, still glaring at Kelly angrily. "Come on," she demanded. "Just get over it, will you?"

Normally, Kelly would have fired back an insult. Or engaged in a bitch-slapping fight. Or just silenced the other girl with a look. But these days she didn't have the stomach for it. Instead, she just ignored her, picking at the ring on her left hand, staring at the concrete between her feet. She could hear Simon feeling uneasy, unsure whether to speak up or not. He would wait and see if Alisha said anything else, and then say something. She didn't. Relieved, he returned to his work. She wanted to tell him how much of a wimp he was, but she didn't. She listened to Curtis wonder if things were going to be this socially awkward all the time from now on, or whether she would get taken off by some community grief counsellor.

"I don't need a counsellor," she mumbled icily.

Curtis blinked, and then shrugged guiltily. "Sorry. Maybe... never mind."

Alisha groaned loudly, stood, and swept away with her hands in her pockets and her lip curled. Kelly watched her leave, and then realized with a jolt that Curtis was thinking about Nathan. Something about what he might have said in this kind of situation, how he would have made it funny or brush the argument off. And, without warning, she felt her eyes sting. She leapt to her feet so quickly that Simon flinched, and strode off in the opposite direction to Alisha as fast as she could. She didn't look back, but she could feel their eyes boring into her like lasers. She had started crying before she was even around the corner.

* * *

Curtis watched her go, cursing himself silently. He should have been more careful; of course thinking about Nathan would upset her. He sighed heavily and pushed both hands over his head, closing his eyes. Since Nathan's death none of them had really fallen back into their normal routine. For a moment, they had all been indestructible with their super powers and youth. It had just been so unexpected, so surreal, that one of them should just die without any kind of warning or explanation. And died whilst for the first time in his life not acting like a complete idiot. He lowered his hands and looked at Simon, now the only person left. Simon was watching the corner Kelly had vanished around, his mouth hanging open, his eyebrows angled sharply upwards. He had become more clingy around her over the last few days, though she didn't seem to care.

"Not getting over it, is she?" Curtis said, more to breach the silence than anything else.

Simon blinked at him. "No," he said simply.

Curtis resisted the urge to roll his eyes and leant his elbows on his knees. The bench beneath him, only half painted, had only ever seen Simon's work since they had been assigned to the area. The rest of them just didn't have the heart to do such mundane tasks, or perhaps simply wouldn't have bothered anyway. Simon himself didn't seem to care. He sat on his heels and stabbed at the bench absently with his brush, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed. Curtis pulled out his mobile, played with it for a few minutes, returned it to his pocket. He didn't feel like going after Alisha just yet - she would return on her own when she wanted to. And the lack of contact between them made comforting her infinitely more difficult.

"You visited Nathan yet?" Simon suddenly spoke up, his voice so unanticipated that it took Curtis a few moments to work out what he had said.

"Oh," he said eventually, when Simon looked up quizzically. "Uh, yeah. Went once or twice. Why?"

Simon opened his mouth, and then shut it again. He rolled the brush between the palms of his hands, thinking hard. From his crouched position on the ground he looked like some kind of very serious monkey, deliberating whether or not to step into a lions den. Then he spoke again, answering Curtis' enquiry with another question.

"You ever... you know, heard anything there?"

The conversation was only getting stranger with each passing second. Curtis blinked at Simon for a while before replying, trying to work out just what it was the other boy was trying to ask him. Whatever it was seemed to be important, not that Simon ever seemed to like speaking aloud in public. But his questions were cryptic and random, their meaning flying straight past Curtis' head.

"What, you mean like other people? Or animals or... What?"

Simon looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Like... shouting," he mumbled, casting his gaze at the walls to their left rather than at Curtis.

"Shouting?"

"Yeah. Like coming from..." he jerked his head downwards instead of finishing.

Curtis stared. Simon met his gaze, paled, and looked away once more quickly, as if the sky had suddenly become extremely interesting. Curtis searched for something to say that wouldn't sound bad, came up with nothing, and threw caution to the winds.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's just... Will you come to visit him with me?" Simon asked suddenly, his face clearing. "Just five minutes after we're done here? Just for a minute."

"Why?"

"So you can check something."

"_Check _something?"

Simon just looked at him, pleading silently, his mouth a thin line. Curtis, perplexed, huffed and pulled his gaze away. Alisha had appeared at the corner and was leaning against the wall, looking at him, wanting to talk. Her face was pale and tight. He didn't have to be able to read minds to know that she was regretting what she had said to Kelly, and was too proud to go and apologise. He nodded to her, rose to his feet.

"Curtis?"

"Fine. I'll come, okay? Five minutes."

Simon relaxed, a smile spreading over his face. "Thanks."

Curtis shook his head and moved over towards Alisha, leaving Simon alone by the bench. Perhaps everything Nathan had said about the other boy was true - every time he spoke his words came out small and strange, like aliens in his own mouth. What on earth was Curtis letting himself in for?

* * *

Nathan had never had a panic attack before. He had panicked plenty of times before, raged and swore until he turned blue in the face, but he had never hyperventilated so hard that he suffocated two hours earlier than usual. Or perhaps he was starving to death; stabs of pain were screaming from his stomach like angry snakes coursing through his body. He didn't want to know how he looked right now, shivering and coated in sweat and struggling to breathe in a coffin that was rapidly turning into his lifelong prison. He didn't want to see himself reduced to such a pathetic mess, a hopeless, shuddering, terrified kid locked away forever. But this had all stopped being funny a long time ago.

He pretended not to notice when tears carved their slow way over his pounding temples and his chest jerked in a dry sob. He wasn't the sort of guy who burst into tears like this. God, if Kelly could see him now she would be disgusted. She would laugh. They would all laugh - smart-arse Nathan revealed as nothing but a sniffling baby. Did they think about him? Would they ever bother to visit his new home? Could his hoarse, cracked screams and yells be heard through all those layers of soil? Doubtful. No, all he had for company now was his own mind and thundering heart, screaming over and over _I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this I can't do thisIcan'tdothisIcan'tdothisshiiiiiiiiit._

His hands had gone numb and his lungs were clenching tightly, folding in on themselves as if betraying him. He would never stop being terrified of this moment, this second when his jokes and comebacks couldn't save him and he felt his body die around him, powerless to stop it. If anything each time only struck more terror into his gut, sent his head reeling as he struggled against the darkness looming in on him teasingly.

"Fuck, not again!" he moaned as his body stopped shivering, his heart juddered in his chest. "For fuck's sake! I don't fucking want to!"

And this time when he became aware again, maybe hours, seconds, or days later, when his body began to tremble and sting and ache to let him know that he was alive once more, he didn't move. He counted to ten. Shouted for a bit. Paused. Counted to ten. Shouted again. Paused. Why bother? It was clear that nobody was going to come for him, not even superhoodie. Not even Kelly. His hands were freezing, blocks of ice lying heavy on his stomach. His head was a foggy, leaden, throbbing pain. His chest seared repetitively, as if poking him again and again, letting him know he was still there, still instinctively fighting to breathe, still begging to die. He just wanted it all to be over. He just wanted it all to end.

But he kept shouting.

* * *

Curtis walked a couple of feet behind Simon as they made their way to the graveyard. Evening was setting into the air and sky, and he shivered as the wind tugged at him. His promise to accompany Simon to a 'visit' was beginning to look more and more like a bad idea and less and less like a simple good deed. What on earth did Simon want anyway? What business did he have dragging people out into the graveyard when it was cold and dark like this? Why couldn't he have just asked Kelly to come with him? She seemed to have a much better bond with him than Curtis did. All he wanted to do was throw his hands up, tell Simon to forget it and get a life, and go home. Maybe drop by Alisha's on the way. But he kept his mouth shut. Five minutes, Simon had said. He could bear to stand here for five minutes, surely.

When they finally did reach the graveyard, it was empty of life. Whatever other visitors had long gone home. Curtis' shoes caught at unseen rocks and tangled in long grass as he struggled through the dimness after Simon, who glided through the graves as if he did this every day. Well, perhaps he did. Curtis felt like laughing at himself. Look at him, wandering through a graveyard like some lost idiot. They reached Nathan's grave - or at least, Simon stopped beside a gravestone that looked vaguely familiar - and Curtis folded his arms tightly against the cold and grumbled at the mud that had streaked his jeans.

"What, then?" he said, perhaps a little more brusquely than he had intended. "What do you want me to check?"

Simon put his finger to his lips, and then knelt down. Curtis winced - the boy wasn't going to ask him to pray or something, was he? But no, instead Simon hunched over and pressed his ear against the ground, in a rather comical impression of a red indian. Curtis let out a short laugh, shaking his head.

"Simon, what are you...? Come on, man, if this is some practical joke I'm leaving."

"Be quiet for a minute," Simon mumured.

Curtis cast his eyes skywards but obeyed. He waited, glancing around the graveyard, looking at his watch, wondering what Alisha was doing at that moment. Perhaps he should text her. Simon suddenly sat bolt upright, his face rigid.

"Okay," he said seriously. "There. It's there."

"What is?"

Simon beckoned. Curtis snorted. "Simon, I'm not lying down in the mud. We look enough like freaks as it is. Will you just tell me what's going on?"

"Please, just do it. You have to hear this."

Curtis shifted from foot to foot, looked all around once more. No one was there. No one to see him. If this was some strange prank, it would be between Simon and himself. Swearing softly, he knelt down in the mud. Its coldness bit through his jeans and he scowled.

"What?"

"Listen."

Sighing heavily, Curtis bent his head. He didn't let his ear touch the ground, just leant close enough to satisfy Simon's gaze. He waited. He listened. He frowned. He sat up, looked around, then bent down again and pressed his ear against the slimy grass, his brow furrowed. He listened again to the dull, muffled, hardly audible mumbling.

"What... what is that?" he breathed, suddenly on edge.

Simon shook his head. "I had a couple of theories," he said softly.

Curtis listened as the sounds stopped for a while, and the started up again. Too irregular to be any kind of machine or pipe. Almost as if somebody was yelling, shouting from the other side of a brick wall.

"What the hell is it?" he repeated incredulously. "This is... god."

"I didn't want to tell Kelly," Simon said hesitantly. "Just in case I was wrong."

Curtis stared at him, and then shook his head violently. "No. Come on, Simon! We all saw him die, we _saw _it. This is ridiculous."

"We never did find out what his power was."

Curtis let out a short, high-pitched laugh and then clamped his lips shut tightly. He stared at the grass, imagined the coffin beneath, imagined where those sounds were coming from. He shook his head once more. It was insane. Both he and Simon must be hallucinating, imagining things. Powers like speeding through time or reading minds or turning invisible were one thing. Coming back from the dead just seemed to be on an entirely different level.

"Well, what do you want to do?" he said at last, spreading his hands. "You want to dig him up or something to check? For god's sake!"

"No, no, that would be weird," Simon said quickly, his eyes wide.

Silence stretched between them for a few moments. Curtis didn't look at him. He glanced at his watch once more.

"I can't believe I'm... god."

"But what if we're right?" Simon whispered.

Curtis hung his head. Then he rose heavily to his feet. "I'll get some shovels," he said thickly. "You stay here, make sure no one comes in. Say its closed today or something. Its late anyway."

And with that he turned and headed towards the community centre with a plan in mind that was crazier than anything he had done in his life so far. Crazier even than turning back time. He was about to dig up a grave to check that his dead friend was, in fact, dead.

**Reviews are welcome, hope you enjoyed it.**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	3. Next To Nothing

**Disclaimer: I don't own Misfits. Includes strong language.**

**The reviews were much appreciated :)**

**A couple of points raised which I felt I should answer - firstly, yes, the series will probably have Kelly hear Nathan's thoughts as that makes far more sense than my method :D I just noticed there were a couple of fanfictions that had already taken that route and didn't want to copy. Secondly, Nathan's smart-arse personality... let's just say it'll be a little dented.**

Nathan lay below compact, heavy earth gazing into the blackness above his head with half-closed eyes. He wasn't sure when exactly his mind had gone blank and he had stopped shouting for help. He couldn't have pin-pointed the moment when his body had stopped responding to his commands, when his screams died in his throat before they could even get near his cracked lips. He imagined worms and insects and unimaginable crawling things eating him alive, sneaking into his guts and chewing on his organs. He wondered if he would live if he had no body to live in. Just how far did immortality go? It didn't seem to matter much at this moment. Nothing really seemed to matter right now.

Everything seemed to hurt in some way, and yet he couldn't muster the will to move. Perhaps this would be death for him, this semi-conscious emptiness that had taken hold of him. He felt as if he had simply become another part of the coffin, as lifeless as the real corpses around him. He wondered if he was breathing or not. He wasn't sure. One thing, though, was absolutely certain in his slow, deserted mind - he was never going to be rescued. Nobody was ever going to come for him. Why would they? Why would anyone think to dig him up again? His shouts clearly hadn't reached above ground, and even if they had nobody had heard them. He was going to spend the rest of his life here in a coffin, watching the silk decay around him, listening to others being buried around him, waiting for nothing forever.

He noticed a strange, almost coppery taste in the back of his throat. The sensation had been growing for quite some time now, niggling at him more and more. He had stopped trying to swallow it away - it only grew stronger. If he had the strength and a clear enough mind, he would have tried to cough it out. As it was, the taste paled to insignificance compared to the eternity stretching out before him now. He felt exhausted, as if he had just spent an entire night throwing up; his body was weak and shivery, his head pounding, his mind blank. He wanted to sleep, but if he did sleep, he would surely end up dying once more, and he couldn't take it. The thought that had originally seemed empowering, exciting, and yet now he could think of nothing worse. So he decided not to think at all. He let go. He drifted.

* * *

Curtis felt sweat on his back and his upper lip, felt heat prickling in his brow despite the icy tongue of the air around him that dragged over his skin endlessly. He dug the blade of his spade into the earth below him and leant heavily on the handle, panting, his jacket discarded high above him. The muddy walls stretched above his head by now in an uneven, jagged hole, roots brushing the back of his neck and sending dirt trickling down his back. He could barely see - they dug by the light of a tiny torch he had found at the community centre and balanced on the gravestone. He brushed a hand over his face and watched Simon heap mounds of soft soil over his shoulder, out of the hole. Curtis was by far the stronger of the two of them, but Simon had surprising perseverance. His jaw was clenched tightly and his eyes boring into the ground, as if he had just received some shocking news, or perhaps felt sick. His dark shirt made his head seem almost dismembered. Curtis watched him dig, and thought how he had dug up or buried corpses way too many times in the last month or so.

There was a sudden thud from beneath them, and Simon let out a heavy pant, steam rushing from his lips. "Got it," he breathed. "It's here."

Curtis nodded stiffly, trying to ignore the way his spine was tingling uncomfortably. If they were wrong, if all they found was a worm-ridden corpse... He put the thought out of his mind and helped Simon to clear away the last few layers of dirt. They had dug wider than they needed to, and Curtis managed to make himself a small space beside the slowly emerging coffin in which to crouch. He uncovered the brass clasps one by one and flipped them open, but the lid didn't budge. Of course not - the clasps were for show. Coffin lids were nailed down. He gestured to Simon and together they rammed the blades of their spades beneath the lid and shoved the handles down. The polished wood splintered, groaned.

"Shit," Curtis muttered.

Simon didn't reply. Curtis wet his lips as the lid began to give, spoke up in a voice that sounded small and unsteady in the thick air.

"Get the torch?"

Simon threw his spade out and climbed up after it, scrabbling on the earthy walls, his clothes streaked with mud and dirt. He crawled to the headstone, took the torch, jumped back down again. Together they stood beside the coffin, gazing down at Curtis' spade lodged in the gap between the lid and the casket, the only sound their rapid panting. Simon directed the torch onto the wood, his hands shaking so that the light leapt and trembled. Curtis took a deep breath.

"Okay," he muttered. "Okay. Here we go."

Simon nodded, made a small noise in the back of his throat. Curtis steadied himself, told himself everything would be fine, and then with a sharp pull levered up the lid of the coffin. He shoved it back, letting it fall against the opposite wall of their hole, and steeled himself to look. He caught a glimpse of pale, ashen skin, dull hair, skeletal hands, the blazing white wires of an I-pod, and could look no more. He clamped his eyes shut, gritting his teeth.

"Shit, fuck!" he hissed, clinging to his spade. He heard Simon let out a fast sigh, forced himself to open his eyes and look again. Nathan lay in the darkness of his coffin, his eyes half open and glazed, dry, pale lips parted, completely still... There was no way he had been shouting loud enough for them to hear. No way at all. "Shit!" he repeated, so loudly that Simon flinched. "What the fuck have we done? What did you make me do? Simon, fuck!"

He turned away, nausea heaving in his stomach. Dead. Nathan was dead, and he had just dug him up again. It was an insult to his memory, so disrespectful to mar his grave like this. What would Kelly say? She would surely notice that someone had been digging. God, this had been such a terrible, terrible idea.

"Curtis..."

"Just start shovelling, let's get out of here. I want to leave, now."

"Wait."

"No!" Curtis turned to stare at the other boy, his eyes wide with disbelief. "He's not an exhibit at a museum! We're burying him again, and we're not telling anyone about this!"

Simon squeezed awkwardly past him and knelt down, twisted awkwardly in the small space. He put a hand above Nathan's lips, reached for the I-pod, pressed its buttons. Curtis resisted the urge to kick him into reality, knock the horror of what they had done into him.

"Simon!"

"His battery's out of power," Simon murmured. "And I think he might be breathing."

For a few moments, Curtis was speechless. "You... you _think? _Simon, what the-"

And Nathan blinked. Simon surged up to his feet and flinched backwards so quickly that he almost lost his balance and fell into the coffin; Curtis snatched at his arm, frozen in shock. His first thought was 'zombie.' His second 'imagination'. Then his brain juddered into life again and he pushed past Simon, crouching where he had been. He snatched at Nathan's wrist with trembling hands. He felt the pulse flickering beneath his fingers, erratic and thready, but miraculously _there_. He shook his head in disbelief.

"You're alive," he breathed. "You're fucking alive."

Simon made a noise somewhere between a squeak and a grunt. Curtis shook Nathan's arm, and then suddenly realised how freezing the skin below his hand was. How Nathan stared straight through him, expressionless, blank. He leant closer, his stomach plunging, tapping the other boy's cheek lightly.

"Nathan? Nathan, come on, you're alive, I know you're alive, snap out of it. Nathan. Hey."

He slid his other hand between Nathan's shoulder blades and lifted him a little, tapped him a little harder. Nathan lolled in his grip, and then suddenly blinked again. He made a horrible rasping sound, one usually associated with the undead in 80s horror films, and then finally seemed to see Curtis leaning over him. He coughed.

"Y-You..." he rasped, his voice thin and weak. "... 'uckin'... di-dicks..."

Curtis grinned so widely he thought his face would split. Putting one arm behind Nathan's back to hold his listless body upright, he gestured with his free hand to Simon, who stood frozen and staring.

"Yeah, that's him!" he said. "Gimmie my coat. Simon! My coat?"

Simon started, and then climbed out of the hole dazedly. He threw down Curtis' jacket and remained kneeling above them, still shining the torch above their heads like some poor imitation of the sun at a children's play. Curtis put the coat around Nathan's shoulders, shoving his arms into its sleeves as roughly as he dared. Nathan gazed at him, his face still lax.

"Mm... fell 'sleep," he mumbled.

"Not asleep, man," Curtis replied, smirking. "Why, dream of me often?"

Nathan looked vaguely confused. Curtis felt a flicker of worry - where was the smart-arse attitude, the whining, the cock-sure sneer? And then a much more worrying thought hit him - what had Nathan been through in the past two weeks? He had effectively been buried alive. To wake up in a coffin was a nightmare Curtis could barely imagine. He glanced up at Simon, who had a distinctly 'rabbit in the headlights' look about him, and then rose awkwardly to his feet, dragging Nathan with him. Nathan's legs trembled, and then gave out. Curtis caught at him, grateful that the other boy was so skinny.

"Simon, help..."

Simon reached down, and together they somehow managed to heave Nathan's lifeless body up out of the grave, onto the damp grass above. Curtis scrambled after him and knelt in the mud, watching as Nathan's body jerked with shudders, his face twitching with short flickers of pain. He glanced quickly at Simon, who looked even more panicked than he did. He fought for the most pressing question.

"Where the hell do we take him?" he whispered, hoping Nathan was still too out of it to hear or understand him.

Simon shrugged, his face tight. "I-I don't..." He floundered for a moment, searching for words. "I... the community centre. That's where he was staying before."

"His stuff's still there? His bed?"

"They didn't know he was there, we left it all..."

"Okay." Curtis glanced around. "You fill the grave in, made it neat, I'll get him back to the centre."

"What do you think's wrong with him?" Simon asked, his gaze straying to Nathan once more. Curtis shook his head.

"Dunno. It'll pass, right? We don't know how his immortality stuff works." He hesitated, suddenly realising. "He's gonna need stuff... blankets, food, someone to stick with him..."

"Kelly's is closest," Simon murmured.

They shared a glance. Curtis hesitated. "Okay," he said eventually. "Just... just prepare her for it, yeah?"

"What do I say?"

"I don't know! Say... Don't know," Curtis hissed, shaking his head. He took hold of Nathan by the arms, heaving him up to his feet once more. He slung an arm over his shoulders, held tightly to Nathan's waist with one arm. "Come on, Nathan, give me a hand," he said loudly, jostling him lightly.

Nathan blinked, shook his head. His legs straightened, bearing some weight. And, as soon as Curtis took two steps, they caved in and had Nathan falling heavily against him, clawing a small grunt of pain from his lips. Curtis caught him once more, his anxiety heightening rapidly. He cast a meaningful glance back at Simon.

"Hurry, yeah?" he said.

Simon nodded.

And so Curtis tightened his grip on Nathan and began to move, bearing most of his weight, and growing more certain with every step that something was very wrong.

**This night is going to be a long one for Curtis :) I'm mean. Hope you enjoyed it, reviews are welcome.**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	4. Lights Out

**Disclaimer: I don't own Misfits. Includes strong language.**

**The reviews were much appreciated :)**

"Curtis..."

Curtis kept moving, his grip on Nathan tight. They shuffled down the endless pavements like drunken contestants in a three-legged race, or perhaps victims of some terrorist attack - he covered in mud and grime, Nathan slumped and leaning heavily on his shoulder. The community centre had truly never seemed so far away, and behind every corner Curtis imagined a policeman, a pack of loud-mouthed school kids, a nosy middle-aged woman, all of which would prove to be unthinkably meddlesome at this moment. He tensed every time a car drove past, headlights shafting through the darkness in twin beams; he ducked his head whenever they passed beneath the revealing orange light of a lamppost. His neck prickled uncomfortably, so much so that he worried he might end up reversing time and have to go through it all again. He had spent the whole day scraping graffiti off walls and bending down for litter, his evening had consisted of digging up a coffin. He was tired, that deep kind of bone weariness that slips into muscles bit by bit. He just wanted to go home. For perhaps the sixth time, he contemplated dumping Nathan on the pavement, telling him he wasn't worth the trouble, and going home to sleep. But he had never been able to pull off the heartless front. Instead, he concentrated on walking.

"C-Curt..."

"Bit longer," he said through clenched teeth. "Nearly there now. Just suck it up for a bit."

Nathan went quiet for a bit. Long enough for them to reach the end of the road, where Curtis paused beside the tall glowing traffic lights and looked around. His heart leapt - they were closer than he had realized. Perhaps two thirds of the way there.

Of course, that didn't mean that Curtis' night was anywhere near being over. There was still so much to do, so many things that made him cringe lingering on the horizon. They were going to have to explain Nathan's miraculous recovery to the police, their probation worker, his _parents... _God, how were they supposed to do that? And still he didn't know how this immortality thing worked. Was Nathan going to be like this, zombie-like, forever? How long did it take him to 'come back' each time? Hell, he still had to tell Alisha everything. He would call her as soon as he had a moment. Could they perhaps pretend that Nathan had faked his own death to try to get out of doing community service? Maybe. But then that didn't explain his corpse at the funeral, his death certificate. This was certainly going to be a very sticky dilemma.

"I can't," Nathan said suddenly, the words rushing out in one breath.

For a moment, Curtis thought he must be talking about explaining his return to the living. Then he realized that Nathan's legs were slowly buckling beneath him, his head dropping heavily onto Curtis' shoulder. He jostled the other boy, glancing around warily for any unwanted company.

"Don't do that, come on. We're nearly there. Nathan, stand up. Hey!"

"Can't... s'appening... 'gain..."

And then, all at once, Curtis found himself completely supporting Nathan's limp form. He struggled to hold his weight, and then twisted around and lowered him to the ground, resting him against the metallic shutters of a shop. Nathan began to slide listlessly to the side, and Curtis pushed him upright again, keeping a steadying hand on his arm.

"Nathan?" he hissed, leaning closer. "Nathan, don't fuck with me now. If we get found, we're screwed! Nathan!"

Silence. Curtis let out a heavy sigh, kneading his eyes with one hand. His patience was stretched to the limit, his limbs crying for rest. What was wrong with the other boy? He was supposed to be immortal, surely he could just keep going forever. He had managed two weeks underground... oh. Curtis opened his eyes, suddenly understanding. Two weeks underground with no food, no water, and no hope. Now he was out, but still he had eaten nothing. Considering that, Curtis was amazed to think he had kept going this long, to think that he hadn't died of starvation yet. He took another look at him, at his bloodless face, the purpled smudges beneath his eyes, the stick-thin quality of his arms, his motionless chest.

Wait.

Curtis reached for his wrist, and then swore and shook him by both shoulders. "Nathan! Shit... Nathan? You prick, did you just... fuck."

Nathan was dead. _Dead. _How could he be dead? Had the walk really affected him that much after all that time underground? And more to the point, how the hell was Curtis going to get him to the community centre now? He forced himself to take a deep breath, tried to calm down. It would be all right. Things could surely be worse. He rubbed a hand across his forehead, and then suddenly noticed the dark liquid creeping from the corner of Nathan's mouth. He yelped at the sight of it, scrambled closer. Blood? Yes, blood.

"What?" he cried. "What's... what happened?"

He could see no injury, no gaping wounds. Apart from _that _one... He stared as the blood began to drip from Nathan's chin, stringy with saliva, staining the hem of his t-shirt. He checked once more for anyone approaching, and then cautiously inched forwards and pulled up Nathan's shirt. The ugly mess of dried blood and congealing skin sat in the middle of Nathan's chest, a gross reminder of the post that had gone straight through him. The twisted, marred flesh made Curtis' skin crawl, but he forced himself to look anyway. He couldn't tell if it had healed at all or not. Perhaps if he checked the other side. He reached a hand around to Nathan's back, felt cautiously between his shoulder blades. Nothing. Just skin. He retracted his hand quickly, looking around once more. Still their luck held - no one around. Curtis sat back on his heels, trying to think clearly, his panic slowly retreating. If the wound didn't go all the way through, it must be healed, at least a bit. Which meant that the part Curtis could see must be simply superficial. Which meant that the whole dribbling blood thing was probably nothing serious, just old blood that had come up because of the walking. Right? Well, true or not, that theory made Curtis feel a lot better considering their situation.

He sat back on his heels, glancing at his watch. The silver hands were inching closer to midnight. He groaned. Had he really been out for this long? Well, it couldn't be helped now. He looked at Nathan, wincing at the blood, and then pulled the top down again and zipped up the jacket. His own jacket, that seemed to dwarf Nathan's weedy body. Perhaps Nathan would simply wake up again in a few minutes... well, it seemed he had two choices. One - he sat here and waited for Nathan to wander back to life again, risking being found. Two - he tried to carry on, which was going to be very difficult and look even more suspicious. He chewed on his lip.

Fifteen minutes crawled past. From somewhere nearby, he heard the drunken screams and cat-calls of a group making their way home from a pub. He made his decision.

"You prick," he muttered. "Least you're skinny."

He stood up, reached down and heaved Nathan up. Awkwardly, he bent and managed to get Nathan over his shoulder. He straightened, wincing at the weight, gripping his jacket with both hands. He could do this. Nathan wasn't so heavy, he was practically a stick anyway. It wasn't going to be that hard.

"Okay," he panted. "Let's go."

* * *

Simon patted down the earth on top of the grave with his spade, his eyes glazing with tiredness. He threw down his spade and heaved a sigh, looking down at his handiwork. It was good enough. Either way it was too dark to tell if he had made it look undisturbed. He wandered over to the bushes and scooped up a few handfuls of leaves, spread them over the grave, stamped them down. He didn't know what else to do. He was still trying to fight past the realization that he had been right, that Nathan was actually alive.

He took the spades and the torch with him to Kelly's. It would mean more to carry back, but maybe Kelly could lend him a bag of some kind. Kelly... he had to tell her about Nathan. His pace slowed at that thought. He didn't know what he was going to say. And even though he walked so slowly that he almost stopped dead, by the time he reached her block of flats he still had no idea. He made his way to her door and stood outside it, staring, struggling to think of something. He put the spades down but held onto the torch, clenching his fists over it tightly as if hoping to break it. Maybe that would be an excuse to leave. He could go to Alisha first, tell her what had happened, and then she could tell Kelly instead of him. But he was a little scared of Alisha, especially her power. Not that she would ever use it on him. Would she? He decided to stay with Kelly.

He knocked so quietly that nobody answered, and had to knock again. He heard footsteps, someone shout, and then the door swung open. It was the first time Simon had ever seen Kelly's mother, with her straight brown hair and navy tracksuit jumper and hoop earrings to match her daughters'. She stood like a lioness defending her territory, arms folded, lips curled, eyes burning with suspicion.

"Who're you?" she demanded.

It took Simon a few moments to remember the answer to that question, and by the time he had one of her eyebrows had climbed high up her forehead. He couldn't stop looking at it, watching as it twitched like a spindly caterpillar.

"I... Simon," he said thinly. "Kelly's friend."

"What d'you want?"

He cleared his throat, tried to make himself sound a little more assertive. His voice came out shaky and wavering. "To talk to her. Please. Now."

Kelly's mother stared at him. He stared back, uncertain whether to ask again or simply run. Or perhaps grab one of the spades in case she attacked. She looked him up and down, let out a short, high-pitched laugh, and then turned and walked back into the house, leaving the door open.

"Kelly!" she called. "There's some wanker at the door for you."

Simon felt his ears turn red. He clutched the torch tighter, not daring to try stepping over the threshold. "I don't wank," he muttered.

Kelly appeared in the small hallway beyond the door, and Simon felt relief flood through him. He lifted a hand in a small, odd wave, and then realized what he was doing and dropped it again quickly. She raised her eyebrows anyway as she made her way over to him.

"Simon? What d'you want?" she said, frowning. "D'you know what time it is?"

"Yeah, sorry. I just need your help with... um..."

This was it. This was when he had to tell her. He looked at her, and then quickly looked at the floor. He played with the torch. He couldn't think what to say. Say something, say anything, the silence was making his hands tremble. His tongue had become too big for his mouth.

"Wot are you thinking about telling me?"

God, she could hear him. He'd forgotten about that. "I... d'you have blankets?"

"Blankets?"

"And food?"

"Wot are you goin' on about? Have you been smokin' sumfing?"

Simon shook his head quickly. "No, no, it's for... someone."

"Who?"

Simon shut his eyes. "Nathan's alive," he burst out. He was thinking it anyway; there was no getting out of telling her. "We dug him up and he's alive but he's all weird and Curtis said to come and get stuff for him and you were closest so I came to you and I didn't know how to tell you but... but..." his voice trailed off. Kelly's face changed, taking on an expression he couldn't read. Something between horror and grief and anger. He shrugged helplessly.

"Are you... are you all right?"

"That's not funny, Simon," Kelly said, her voice low and shaking. "That's fucking horrible. I dunno wot you've been drinking, but if you don't leave now I'm gonna hit you so hard you'll never wake up."

Simon stepped back quickly, his gaze darting to the spades. Suddenly, Alisha looked much less scary. Kelly gripped the doorway with both hands, her lips tight, her eyes burning and red. He opened his mouth and then shut it again. He watched as Kelly looked him up and down, taking in the mud and grass stains covering his clothes, the spades leaning against the wall behind him, the torch in his white-knuckled hands. She swallowed hard and looked at him again, then folded her arms tightly.

"Wot the fuck are you doing with all this?"

Simon brushed self-consciously at the mud on his shirt. "We think he's immortal," he said in a small voice. "That's his power - being immortal. He's alive. And my house is further away, and Curtis said to hurry, so I just came to you... Kelly, I'm really sorry, I'm not lying, I swear."

There were tears in her eyes. She shook her head, stepped back into her flat. "You fucking weirdo," she muttered, and she shut the door hard behind her.

Simon stared at the door, at the small brass numbers, the letter box. He could knock again... no. He would go to his own house. If he ran, perhaps he could make it back to the community centre within the hour. Slowly, he gathered up the spades and glanced back at the door one last time, then left quickly. He took the stairs because waiting for the lift made him feel nervous. As he walked out of the double swing doors and into the street, he craned his neck back to search for her window. They all looked the same. He held the spades tightly, looking left and then right. Which way would be faster? Eventually, he opted for right, through the park and over the high street. He began to walk, quickening his pace.

He heard the footsteps as he was nearing the park's red painted gates. He slowed down, glanced behind him. A dark figure had appeared at the end of the street, holding something large and dark in one hand. Simon felt his stomach lurch and did the first thing he could think of - he turned invisible. He watched through blurry vision, inching back towards a nearby car as the figure pounded closer. He didn't recognise her until she passed under a lamppost and stopped nearby, looking around, panting hard.

"Simon?" Kelly called, her voice still wobbly, her mascara a little smudged. "I know you're here, I saw ya." She paused, listening. "I'm _not _gonna hit ya! Where are you?"

He hesitated a moment longer, at least until he realized what she was holding in her hand. A bag, crammed with a couple of hastily folded blankets. In her other hand she clutched a twenty pound note. Simon stepped forwards cautiously, and she started as he slid back into visibility once more. She shrugged at him, her face still taught with restrained emotions. For a moment an awkward silence hovered between them as she gazed at his spades and he looked at the bag.

"There's an all-night pizza takeaway round the corner," she said, clearly trying to sound in control. "We should hurry, yeah?"

* * *

When Curtis finally dropped Nathan's lifeless body down on his bed, he felt ready to lie down and die himself. He didn't know which part of the last half hour he had enjoyed more - climbing in through the back window, finding his way through the deserted corridors in the dark - arms too full to search for a light switch - or perhaps fighting his way up the narrow, twisting metal stairs at the top of which Nathan had set up camp all that time ago. Twice he had tripped and ended up both dropping Nathan and jarring his elbow. Both times. And now he sat on the floor, Nathan's arm swinging against his face, an ancient pizza box and crumpled wrappers around his feet. He kicked them away, scowling. He let his head fall back against the bed and shut his eyes, sighing heavily. When he opened them again, he wasn't sure if he had fallen asleep or not. He rose slowly to his feet and looked around, wiping at a smear of mud on his arm.

It was almost one in the morning.

He found a light switch - much better than the dull orange light creeping through the tiny window above them - and then after a moments thought picked up all the wrappers and the pizza box and stuffed them into the bin in the toilets. When he returned Nathan hadn't moved, slumped on his front, blood trickling from his mouth slowly and eating its way into the mattress beneath him. Curtis rolled him onto his back and pulled his jacket off the corpse, shuddering a little at the stiffness of Nathan's limbs. By his watch, Nathan had been dead for almost an hour now. Curtis picked his mobile out of his jacket pocket and then covered Nathan up again with it. He watched the other boy a moment longer, just in case, before turning to his mobile.

He sent Simon a text, asking where he was and whether he had got to Kelly yet. He paced the small red platform, leant on the rusting railing, looked down at the community centre. Eventually Simon replied. The soft ring of Curtis' mobile was a blazing siren in the silence of the centre.

_Told her. Said she wants to hit me. We're on our way._

Curtis frowned, reading the message twice over. He wasn't sure whether that was good news or bad news. So Kelly knew. They would be here soon. And yet Kelly was feeling violent. Curtis rolled his eyes and stuffed his mobile away. As soon as they arrived, he could stop feeling like he was about to be attacked by the secret services demanding to know why he had broken into the community centre with an undead kid. He sat down again, leaning back against the railing, legs stretched out in front of him. Nathan's whole 'silent-as-the-dead' act wasn't doing much to comfort him. He rubbed both hands over his face, and then got out his mobile again. He dialled, held it to his ear. It rang three times.

_"Hey."_

And just like that, he felt a smile rush over his face. "Hey," he said.

_"You okay?"_

He laughed. "You won't believe the night I've had... the night I'm _having._"

_"What's wrong?"_

"Where do I start?" he smiled. His gaze strayed to the bed where Nathan had turned cold, despite his jacket. "Alisha... Nathan's immortal."

**Reviews are very welcome. Thanks for reading. :)**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	5. You're Not Alone Here

**Disclaimer: I don't own Misfits. Includes strong language.**

**The reviews were much appreciated :)**

Simon climbed in through one of the back windows of the community centre and reached up to take the bags from Kelly. He stepped back to let her in, glancing down the dark corridors. Why hadn't Curtis turned any lights on? Maybe someone would see. He found his mobile and pressed buttons randomly until the screen lit up, piercing the darkness a few meters. Kelly dropped down from the window and shut it behind her before taking back the pizza box and the _Tesco _carrier bag. They had found an all-night shop and dashed around it for a few minutes, picking up whatever looked vaguely useful. As a result, their bag was packed with biscuits, fruit, crisps, sports drinks, water and a few chocolate bars. Simon had thought they should get sugar-high foods though he wasn't sure how exactly to treat someone who had just come back from the dead. Then they had picked up a pizza, and headed for the community centre.

And now, in the dark, quiet corridors, their footsteps gunshots in the silence, Simon could feel his nerves rising once more. He didn't want to look at Kelly, but she could hear his thoughts anyway, so it didn't matter. Whatever she heard, she made no comment. They walked without talking. They stopped off at the cupboard so that he could drop off the spades and the torch. And then there was no more escaping it.

Kelly's steps grew quicker as they got nearer, but Simon let himself hang back. The lights were on in the place Nathan had settled in to, surprisingly bright compared to the dimness of the rest of the building. Up on the platform above them, Simon could see the dark form of Curtis against the railing, and a shape on the makeshift bed. He heard Kelly mumble something under her breath. He cleared his throat, waved when Curtis looked down. The other boy rose quickly to his feet, something flickering in his face. Almost like a warning. Simon frowned, but Kelly was already climbing the metal steps. Simon hurried after her, and almost ran straight into her when she stopped abruptly at the top. He almost dropped the bag, managed to stop anything from falling out. He craned his neck to look past her. She was staring at Nathan, whose lips were blue, skin bloodless, eyes almost purple... dead. Simon shot Curtis a panicked glance, but Kelly was already talking, her voice loud and harsh.

"Wot is this? Wot the fuck is this? You guys are sick, totally _sick-_"

"He died on the way over here," Curtis said helplessly, spreading his hands. "I dunno what it was, I just... I don't know when he'll come back again..."

"Come back?" she repeated, staring at him. "Wot are you... he's _dead."_

"He's immortal," Simon broke in, and then stepped back as she span to face him. _He is, _he continued in his head. _I saw him. I swear I saw him._

"It's been about two hours now," Curtis said hesitantly. "I don't know how much longer it'll be. Did you...?"

"Yeah," Simon said, inching cautiously past Kelly. He set down the _Tesco _bag and then took the second bag and pizza box from Kelly and passed them to Curtis. Curtis set down the pizza box on a nearby box, and began to go through the food.

"We didn't know what to get," Simon said, watching him. "We just got cheaper stuff, so we could buy the pizza too."

Curtis nodded. He picked up the sports drinks, one in each hand. "These'll be good."

Simon sensed movement and glanced over his shoulder. Kelly had crossed to Nathan. For a few minutes she just looked at him, her face stricken. Then she shook herself and began to unpack the blankets. She spread them over Nathan's motionless corpse with surprising care, and then sat down beside him. She pressed her hands together in her lap. Simon and Curtis shared a short look. Then Curtis moved away to the wall and sat down, leaning his head back against the concrete and wrapping his arms around his knees. Simon sat down on one of the boxes, folding his arms, hunched over like a blackbird.

It seemed like now there was going to be nothing for them to do but wait.

* * *

Time passed, and Kelly felt tiredness begin to eat at her eyes. She didn't dare close them though. She couldn't bring herself to look away from the cold, lifeless corpse on the bed beside her that had once been Nathan. That could still be Nathan. She didn't want to touch him either: she had made the mistake of reaching for his hand at one point only to find herself clasping stiff, rigid, ice cold fingers that sent chills down her spine. It was as if she would be able to break off one of his fingers if she pulled too hard, the tips of which had turned blue. His skin looked almost translucent, and she could see tiny, spider-webbed blue veins reaching out from his temples, his neck, his eyelids. If she looked too hard, he almost seemed to have turn a pale shade of grey, or perhaps that was just the light. His lips were definitely blue, which was both disturbing and made him look as if he had been mucking about with goth make up. His hair looked unnaturally dark in comparison with his white face, and the fact that he was so damn _still _was something she still could not get over.

For all she knew, Curtis and Simon had got high and decided to play a cruel, unforgivable prank on her.

But what if they weren't...

Hours crawled by, and still she waited. She heard Curtis' breathing even out into sleep on the other side of the room, saw Simon begin to nod off on the boxes. And she waited. And her mobile showed 2:30am, 3:30am, 4:30am, 5:00am, and still she waited. Alisha was texting her for half the time, demanding for more details, complaining about how her parents were refusing to allow her to break her curfew again. She wanted to know everything that was happening. Kelly didn't know what to tell her. She replied non-committally, and as they wandered into the early hours she stopped replying at all, too tired to think clearly enough to key in the words.

When it finally happened, Kelly was so tired that she almost missed it completely.

It started slowly, not abruptly as she had expected. It started with a blink, a gradual rush of blood back into blue-tipped fingers. She watched his hands return to their natural colour blindly - only when his fingers twitched did she realize what was happening. Her gaze darted to his face, a sudden uncontrollable wave of emotion flooding through her as his eyes opened, closed, opened once more and stared at the ceiling, glazed but flickering with life. And then he took a breath, and just like that, he was alive again. She heard herself let out a small, strangled sound somewhere between a sob and a whoop, words suddenly empty to her.

Nathan rubbed his eyes with trembling hands, then allowed his gaze to shift dazedly around the room. Surprise danced across his face, closely followed by disbelief. And then his eyes fell on Kelly, and widened considerably.

"Kelly?" he said hoarsely. His voice sounded like a broken lawnmower rattling over concrete. And yet it still somehow sounded better than anything Kelly had ever heard. She felt a grin split her face, felt tears stinging at her eyes. She managed to blink them back, and when she spoke her voice stayed steady.

"All right, Nathan?"

He gazed at her, as if trying to memorize every inch of her face. Then he slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked around. "How'd... I get out?" he rasped.

"Curtis and Simon dug ya up," she replied. "How'd ya feel?"

Nathan cleared his throat, and then then coughed hard, sending a spray of blood over his lips. Kelly's stomach flipped over, but she managed to hold back a yelp. Nathan brushed at it, his eyebrows angling comically upwards. He looked at her, at his hand, and back again.

"What did you do? I've never done that before!"

"Me?"

"All of you! You dicks that buried me alive! Jezus, you could've checked!"

"How were we supposed to know?" she demanded, but a smile was pressing through his anger already, and she felt herself unconsciously returning it. He sniggered quietly, rubbing one hand over his chest absently. Both of them found their gaze drawn down to the place the post had torn through him, and the pause turned distinctly more uncomfortable.

"So. I'm fucking immortal, am I?" he muttered, his smile suddenly forced.

"Looks like," she said. "Should've known you'd never let a little thing like death tell you when to piss off."

He frowned suddenly, pulled at the neck of his t-shirt to look down at his chest. His eyebrows jumped, and he quickly patted his top back down again, as if he had just witnessed some obscenity.

"Urgh. Gross."

"Wot?"

He just shook his head. He coughed again, cast his gaze around. "You got any food up here?"

She had completely forgotten about that. She rose quickly and crossed to the boxes to retrieve the _Tesco _bag, opting against the pizza. By the time she had turned around he had sat up slowly, and she suddenly saw how skinny he really was. His clothes hung around him like curtains; his jacket was almost dropping off his bony shoulders. She returned and spread out the food and drinks over his legs, emptied the whole bag. He fell on it ravenously, barely seeming to notice the difference between the different types. He devoured half with a few minutes, and she sat at the end of his bed with her knees drawn up to her chest, waiting for him to finish. He finally began to slow down halfway through his third packet of crisps.

"So you've all been sobbing your hearts out for me?" he asked jovially. "Were there keening mourners at my funeral? Ah, how my sad, tragic tale must have hit the papers..."

Kelly laughed. It was the first time she had laughed properly since... well, since he had been alive. He downed the remainder of one of the sports drinks, tossed it aside, moved onto the next. Her eyes caught on his skeletal hands, skin clinging to bone, wrists that looked as if they could snap.

"What was it like?" She spoke as if in a dream, barely meaning the words to actually escape from her lips.

He looked up at her sharply, freezing in mid-chew. His grip on the biscuit in his hand tighted until it crumbled, scattering over his lap. He licked his lips, something flickering in the back of his eyes like a curse. Like a memory that had scarred him more than she could ever understand. And then suddenly it had all vanished, and a condescending smirk curled his lip.

"Oh yeah, it was great. I've been popping up to heaven every five minutes, really nice place, lots of McDonalds there though, reckon the Americans must have got there first. A real party."

She wished she couldn't read his mind. Because now that she had started the thoughts coming, they wouldn't stop. She heard his ragged breathing, his endless denial, his sheer panic, rushing back to haunt him. She heard him trying to suppress it and failing. He wouldn't meet her gaze, far more interested suddenly on the crumbs in his lap.

She acted on impulse. If the others had been awake, should anyone have been around to see her do it, she would have held back. But it was just the two of them. And she suddenly didn't care if people might think she was pathetic or emotional or desperate. She shifted forwards and hugged him, clenching her fists in his hoodie, pressing her face against his shoulder. He held her back just as tightly.

And, just for him, she pretended she didn't feel the dry, hard sobs that shook through his chest. She pretended she had noticed nothing at all.

**Not sure if that was a bit too fluffy for a series like Misfits... That'll be the last fluffy indulgence, promise.**

**Thanks for reading, reviews are very welcome.**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	6. Crawl

**Disclaimer: I don't own Misfits. Includes strong language.**

**Sorry for the wait. The reviews were much appreciated :)**

Curtis woke when a soft bump across the room sent a thrill of shock through him, sending his head jerking back against the wall behind him with a resounding _crack. _He bit back a yell of pain, managing to cram it into a furious hiss instead. He blinked through watering eyes at Simon, who had woken him by rolling ungracefully off his box, and who was now staring around dazedly with an expression of comical confusion on his face. He rolled onto his back and rubbed his shoulder. Curtis glared at him, and then pushed himself upright, rubbing a hand across his face.

A glance at his watch told him that it was morning at last, 6.30am to be exact. His clothes felt old his limbs stiff with tiredness and the exertion of the night before. He wanted to go home and sleep for the rest of the day... only he had community service work to do in about two hours. If anything was for certain, it was that he wasn't going to be getting any sleep at all any time soon. None of them were. He groaned at the thought and looked around for the others, ready to explain this little revelation to them.

Nathan was asleep - asleep, and quite clearly not dead. He lay curled into a tight ball on his side, his face turned into his pillow, his skinny body heaped with Kelly's blankets. He still looked sick - his face was still hollowed and waxy, his hands twig-like fists - but his eyes were moving beneath their lids and Curtis could see the steady rise and fall of his chest. Relieved, Curtis sought out Kelly, who was asleep at the end of Nathan's bed, leant back against the railing. One of her hands rested on his leg, as if she had been smoothing the blanket when she had fallen asleep. The two of them appeared surprisingly peaceful. Around them was scattered wrappers and boxes from the foods Kelly and Simon had picked up, only a couple still unopened. So Nathan had at least eaten something.

He felt a small surge of disappointment at the thought that he had missed Nathan's shift from death to life. He still had no idea how it even worked. He found himself wondering if it was a dramatic recovery, or a quiet one, perhaps loud and gasping like in films... he quickly put his mind to more important matters and stood up. He beckoned to Simon, who had by now sat up and was kneading his eyes wearily, and then crossed to Kelly. He woke her silently, put a finger to his lips, and then led the way downstairs. The other two followed softly, still wrapped in a haze of sleep.

They went, as always, to the locker room to talk. Once there, Kelly sat down on the floor and Simon leant heavily against the lockers, sighing heavily. Curtis pulled out his mobile and scrolled through the many texts Alisha had been sending, desperate to know what was going on.

"What're we going to tell the probation workers? His family?" Simon said, almost to himself.

"Family?" Curtis shook his head. "Truth. Probation workers? No idea."

"Can't we just leave it until tomorrow?" Kelly said, placing both hands over her face. "Just to give him time to get his head straight. He can hide out up there for now, nobody will look for him. And then when he's recovered, we'll figure out what we're going to tell them."

Curtis was so tired that he couldn't be bothered to argue. It sounded like an easy plan, and as far as he was concerned, easy certainly meant good at the moment. He nodded, shrugging his jacket on slowly.

"Okay. Then we all go home and come back here like usual, pretend nothing happened. And tomorrow we'll all decide what to do."

Simon and Kelly agreed, or at least nodded until he stopped talking and let them go. Kelly plodded back to Nathan to let him know what was going on, and Curtis and Simon waited zombie-like outside the building, squinting against the early morning sunlight, wincing at the shriek of birdsong. Kelly returned after only a few minutes, and together they began to walk slowly back into town.

"How was he? Were you there when he woke up?" Curtis asked, the words slurring slightly.

"Yeah," Kelly replied. "He was okay. Not exactly somethin' you get over quickly though, right? Being buried alive and all that..."

Simon shivered. "Do you think he'll be all right?" he said hesitantly.

The others didn't answer. And even when they parted, the silence followed each home like a ghost.

* * *

Nathan woke again at around midday, his stomach heaving and his head pounding.

The first thing he did was look for Kelly. The last time he had woken, she had been right next to him, close enough for him to feel her breath on his cheek. She had whispered to him quietly, as if worried that she would upset him by talking normally. Something about being back soon. He had been so tired that he had barely taken it in. And yet now, when he turned his head, she had vanished completely. All of them had. He raked his brains for the memory of that last conversation they had had. Yes, it had definitely been about her and the others leaving, about to return later on after their shift ended. So for now, at least, he was on his own.

He sat up blearily, frowning at the dull, half-hearted pain in his chest. His head swung once more, and nausea suddenly rushed in on him. He shut his eyes tightly, waiting for it to subside, but it only grew stronger. Perhaps he had eaten too much in the ten minutes he had been awake, perhaps his body was still recovering from being repeatedly brought back to life again and again. Whatever the reason, he was feeling very, very sick... Eventually, he stopped pretending it wasn't happening and rose unsteadily to his feet. He staggered downstairs and along the quiet corridors, squinting against the bright sunlight that assaulted his eyes. What time was it? Midday at least... he made his way heavily to the bathroom and stumbled to his knees on the dirty tiled floor just in time, barely making it to the toilet before he retched.

It wasn't the first time he had thrown up, but it was definitely the most painful. His chest seared every time he heaved and his head throbbed so hard that darkness spread across his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to just pass out and let that be the end of it, but he forced himself to hold on for now. He gripped the toilet seat with white-knuckled hands, shut his eyes, and endured. His stabbing retches finally gave way to dry heaves, and then to a steady, weary spluttering that left him weak and shivery. He sat back on the floor, leaning heavily against the cubicle wall, and concentrated on breathing the stuffy air he had been denied in the last five minutes or so over the toilet basin. Maybe he did pass out for a while then.

When he came back to himself, he was still sitting on the floor with that furry, ugly taste in his mouth. He sat there for a few minutes longer, blinking slowly, and then gingerly rose to his feet. He moved out of the cubicle, relying on the wall to keep himself upright, and managed to make it to the sink. He washed out his mouth with trembling fingers, then looked at himself for the first time in about two weeks. Even he had to admit that he looked terrible. He looked like a patient from the terminal ward of the local hospital. His eyes were sunken, his face whiter than the porcelain sink, his hair limp and lagging. He stared into his own bloodshot eyes. He looked like... no. He wasn't going to think that particular word. As far as he was concerned, he was never going to die again. He couldn't go through that again.

He gathered the energy to fill the sink with lukewarm water and wash his hair in it. As he tousled it dry beneath the hand-drier, he felt his chest twinge once more. He had completely forgotten about that. He straightened and pulled off his t-shirt, took a good look at himself. He winced at the sight of his ribs pressing through his skin. He had always been thin, but now he had become unnaturally skinny. Kelly would never find this attractive... he would have to fatten himself up a little. Perhaps build up some abs if he could find the time. Or be bothered. But back to the problem at hand... he had a large, red, raw wound in the centre of his chest. It looked disgusting, to be blunt. At least there wasn't pus, that really would be gross... no, it just looked like an old wound. He wondered if being immortal meant that he would get no scars from it all. He prodded it cautiously, ready to whip his hand away if blinding agony tore through him. But nothing happened. He felt a faint throb, but nothing more. It had hurt a lot more when he was underground. Perhaps now that he was out, he would heal much faster too. He ran his hand over the dry, aching gash, and then hurriedly pulled his shirt back on. He would have to put off chatting up Kelly - there would be no hanky-panky and such like until this thing had gone down completely. He made for the door, and then remembered the vomit in the toilet and wandered back into the cubicle, sighing heavily. He tried not to look, but of course there was no point in that. He glanced down as he pressed down on the lever.

He looked down just in time to see scarlet blood swirling into the U-bend.

He left quickly before he could throw up again. His legs had started to shake before he had taken five steps into the corridor, and he had to stop for a breather before he was halfway back. He leant against the wall, shutting his eyes tightly, waiting for the world to stop spinning. Why on earth was he so pathetic now? What was wrong with him? It had to have been the weeks he had spent underground, never once moving a single step. His muscles had been out of use. He wanted nothing more than to go to sleep right here in the corridor, but he knew that as soon as he did that he was going to end up passing out again. So he took a few deep breaths, and then pushed himself upright and headed onwards.

He was almost back when the man appeared.

He managed to throw himself around a corner just before the man turned his head. It was a complete stranger, someone he had never seen before in his life. Nathan watched as he walked towards the glass front doors, his hands in his pockets, his head held high, his eyes glittering with emotions Nathan couldn't read. Nathan hesitated a moment before following. He reached the doors without falling or touching the wall and looked out into the area beyond, where the man had stopped beside four people dressed in orange jumpsuits and lolling back on a bench. Nathan grinned as the man put his hands on his hips and began to talk, felt a small chuckle bubble in his throat as the four jumpsuits stared back at him, uncaring, bored, mocking. he felt a sudden, odd longing to be out there with them, but he knew his legs wouldn't hold him up for that long.

He returned to his bed. By the time he got there his knees were buckling and his eyes were dull and blurry with exhaustion. He collapsed onto his bed and buried his face in the pillow. With one aching, shuddering arm, he reached out and pulled the blankets back over himself. He was unconscious before his arm had dropped back down again.

**Naw, poor Nathan :D**

**Thanks for reading. Reviews are much appreciated.**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	7. Anthem of the Angels

**Disclaimer: I don't own Misfits. Includes strong language.**

**Sorry for the wait. The reviews were much appreciated :) And you guys asked for fluffiness, so...**

After Shaun dismissed them for the day, the four of them slunk into the locker room and changed. Their new probation worker's odd, couldn't-care-less, flat attitude set them all on edge a little, but thankfully they had other things to occupy their minds with. They stood in the locker room in a small group, the cold tiles and drab grey metal filling them all with a sense of emptiness. A long day of scrubbing at graffiti and litter-picking was not exactly motivating. Simon in particular looked exhausted. Kelly wondered if he had in fact ever stayed up for most of the night ever before in his life. She assumed not by the glazed quality of his eyes. He sat on the floor leaning against his locker as the rest of them gathered, flinching every few moments when his head began to droop.

"What now, then?" Alisha said. "Has anyone even seen Nathan today?"

Curtis shrugged tiredly. "I haven't. He's probably just in bed."

"He's probably finished the food by now, though," Kelly said, smoothing back her hair in the cloudy mirror. "How much money d'ya have? Spent all of mine last night."

"Don't know," Curtis replied. "Couple of quid?"

"Fiver, tops," Alisha put in.

Simon juddered awake as Kelly nudged him with a toe. He blinked up at them owlishly and then pressed both hands over his face. "Six pounds twenty," he mumbled. "Change from last night."

There was a small pause. Then, slowly, the three of them began to fork out the little change they had on them. Alisha took it all up and then held it out to Kelly, one eyebrow twitching slightly.

"Go on, then. He can pay us back some other time."

Kelly took the money slowly, feeling strangely touched by the moment. She offered Alisha a rare honest smile, and Alisha's lips curved upwards in reply. Kelly poured the money from one hand to the other, thinking.

"Right. Okay. Well, you guys go home, I'll take care of it."

"I haven't done anything," Alisha pointed out. "You sure you don't want me to stick around?"

"S'fine. Go ahead."

They left slowly, Simon lagging behind Alisha and Curtis in a daze. Kelly walked the other way, heading for a nearby fish and chip shop. She felt weary herself, but she was determined not to go home until she had checked on him. She had promised, after all. She had shaken him awake as they all trooped downstairs earlier that morning, told him quietly what was going on, but she was certain that he hadn't taken in a word of what she was saying. But a promise was a promise. She collected a large bag of cod and chips, adding a bottle of water as an afterthought, and then trudged back to the community centre. Climbing through the window was easier this time than it had been the night before - perhaps because some daylight still remained, and she didn't have to creep through the centre in the pitch black.

The centre was quiet as she made her way towards the back rooms. Shaun, too, had apparently gone home for the day. She had been petrified at first that he would go wandering around the building and come across Nathan, blowing the whole plan, but he seemed to do little more than sit in his office or stand at the window watching them with a rather bored expression heavy on his face. At least Nathan wouldn't be experiencing any surprise visits any time soon. Kelly's footsteps drummed in the silence, bounced over the walls and echoed back to her eerily. She tried to walk more quietly, but it was like trying not to breathe - as soon as you focussed on it, the task was impossible. Eventually she gave in. There was nobody to see or hear her anyway.

She reached the back rooms and slipped into them quietly. It was dimmer here than the rest of the building; cold evening light slanted across the floor in narrow lines and dark shadows ate up the walls with great sprawling blackness. The polished floor squeaked beneath her trainers as she walked to the stairs, jogged softly up them. The dull, metallic thuds of her footfalls gained no greeting from above, and she frowned. She didn't call out though - she wouldn't scare him if he was asleep. She reached the top of the staircase and looked around, shaking her head smilingly at the rubbish scattered over the floor from their feast the night before. The discarded packets and wrappers gleamed dully on the ground like fallen stars in the dimness. She turned her gaze to Nathan who, sure enough, was lying sprawled on his front, blankets lazily draped over one leg, one hand lying discarded across the floor. The sight of him made her smile. She crossed the small space to put down the fish and chips on a box nearby, then knelt down beside him, unsure of whether to wake him or not. She was still considering the dilemma when she began to notice certain little things about him.

If anything, he looked worse than he had when she had last seen him. His lips were dry, his skin pale, his cheeks hollowed, as before. But now his eyes flinched and roved beneath their lids in a restless, feverish fashion and a gossamer thin sheen of sweat covered his skin. If she listened she could hear his breathing rasping softly in and out of his throat. He had taken off his jacket at some point, which only served to emphasise the thinness of his arms. She reached for his arm, taking a grim note of the coolness of his flesh as she shook him gently.

"Nathan?" she said softly, rubbing her hand up and over his shoulder blade. "Nathan? It's Kelly."

He groaned low in his throat and his eyes fluttered blindly. She inched closer, maintaining contact with his shoulder, still calling him quietly. She would have snorted to see herself act in such a way just a few weeks ago, but so much had changed since then. Back then, she didn't have this persistent ache in her gut that grew stronger whenever she saw him in pain. Back then, she didn't care like she did now. Now, everything was different. He moaned once more, and then finally his eyes opened hazily. It took him a while to focus on her from beneath heavy lids.

"Kelly?" he mumbled.

"Hi," she replied, smiling at him. "Sit up?"

He winced at the thought, shut his eyes tightly. Slowly, moving only when he responded, she helped to pull him upright and leant him back against the railings. He brushed at his face with a trembling hand, huffed a thin, half-hearted snigger. His voice was faint, not quite in touch with reality. Faded.

"When exactly did you become my personal nurse? 'Cos you know, I wouldn't mind a bed bath... if you get my drift..."

She rolled her eyes. "Does ya head ever come outta the gutter?"

"Occasionally. I need to come up for air... every hour or so."

She reached across him to pick up the bag of fish and chips and dumped it between them. He eyed it warily, as if expecting something disgusting to suddenly crawl out of the plastic bag. His lips tightened.

"You're eating it, so don't give me that look," she said firmly, arching an eyebrow.

He hesitated, then reached for the bag. She watched his hands shake violently as he took a bag of chips, began to chew on them cautiously. She took a couple herself, the greasy, salty food offering some comfort after the endless worry that had been sticking through her gut all day. She was waiting. Nathan was quiet now, but he was the sort of person who struggled in keeping anything to himself for a long period of time. Eventually, he would tell her what had happened that had left him like this. Perhaps all she had to do was give him a little push in the right direction.

"So, how're ya feeling?"

He didn't answer. Minutes crawled by in which they ate and listened to a distant dripping coming from somewhere in the community centre.

"I threw up," he said at last, clearly trying to sound nonchalant. "Saw some blood in it too. Funny, really. Finally get my power and it doesn't even fucking work properly. What's up with that?"

He ended on a little high-pitched laugh that sent a pang through her heart. He wasn't looking at her again, as if he was somehow embarrassed. He couldn't truly be thinking that this whole event was going to make her think less of him? Of course he could. Stupid men. She shuffled a little closer, picking another chip.

"Do you want to see a doctor? Go to the hospital?"

"What would we tell them? Hi, I died a few weeks ago and I'm feeling a little peaky. Got any pills for that? Perhaps something in my daily routine is setting it all off? No offence, but that's not the greatest idea you've ever come up with."

"So wot, you just want to sit around and mope until you get better?"

"Was planning on it, yeah."

She sighed heavily. He threw her a glance. "Why? Worrying about me?"

She looked at him, unsmiling. "Of course I am."

He froze for a moment, his eyebrows jumping like caterpillars. Then he grinned again, pushed himself up a little further, pushed his hair out of his face. "Yeah, well," he said. "Steady on Kelly, if you're not careful my-"

"I mean it," she interrupted shortly. "And ya know exactly wot I'm talking about, so ya can stop playing dumb."

He stayed quiet. She smirked at him, amused that he had failed to think of a descent comeback. He glanced at her, and a true smile graced his face for a moment. They sat together and ate more chips. And after a while she couldn't stop herself from thinking about how much she wanted to kiss him. It was so stupid, such an inappropriate idea considering how he must be feeling now. But she couldn't help it. The more she looked at him, the more she found her heart pounding when she came back to earth again. The more she tried to look away from him, the more she felt her gaze drawn back like a magnet to metal. She had missed him so much, been so certain that she would never see him again, and now that she had another chance all she wanted was to be with him, touch him, know him...

The chips were resting in his lap, and his head had fallen back against the railings. His eyes had glazed. If she did kiss him now, she doubted he would even remember it. He barely even blinked when she took the few remaining chips from him, screwed them up, shoved them into their bag. By the time she turned around again, his eyes had slid shut. She moved back over to him and placed her hands on his shoulders. He grunted tiredly.

"We'll see how ya are tomorrow," she said. "If you're still like this, I'm finding a doctor. Nathan?"

His eyes cracked open. "Mm feelin' bet'r," he mumbled.

She smiled. "We'll see," she repeated.

She shifted onto her knees and pulled him away from the railing, eased him back down as carefully as she could. By the time she had laid him down on his back she was certain he was asleep, despite the quiet moan that crept from between his lips. She shuffled away on her knees to retrieve the blankets, spread them over him. Her hands stilled as she smoothed it over his chest, and she hesitated.

_It doesn't have to mean anything. Just everything..._

She acted before she could convince herself not to. She tasted his lips for one long, sweet moment that made her stomach flutter. She hadn't felt like this in so long, hadn't cared this much about anyone for years. She savoured the feeling just a second longer, that intimacy of skin against skin, the warmth of his presence. Then she straightened quickly and reached for the carrier bag filled with rubbish. She crossed quickly to the stairs, glancing back over her shoulder as she reached them.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said.

His head rolled towards her. She felt that smile crossing her face once more. Then she shook herself, clawed her way back into the hard, armoured shell that kept her safe from thoughts that snipped and bitched and smirked at her from the eyes of strangers.

Even though those thoughts suddenly didn't seem to matter at all.

**Sorry again it took me a while to get this one up. Probs just one or two more chapters to go. Loving the new series! :D**

**Reviews are welcome.**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


	8. You

**Disclaimer: I don't own Misfits. Or Nathan's massive hair. Shame.**

**Sorry about the shocking wait on this chapter. Can't believe I've left it so long. I've got no real excuse, just that I got into college life and had a few exams. Anyway, this is the very last chapter, so hopefully you'll enjoy it. Sorry to have held out for so long.**

When sunlight crept through the dirty, tiny windows above him and hit his skin, Nathan swam slowly back to consciousness feeling hungry. He blinked his eyes open, took a few deep breaths before daring to sit up. To his surprise, he felt no rush of sickness, no surging headache, barely anything in fact. The worst was a slight twinge in his chest which ran from front to back, and then died away. He chanced a peek under his shirt, but the light was too dim for him to make anything out. Either way, he could see no new blood... Feeling lighter, he scrambled up and circled his territory twice in search of food. Most of the snacks and wrappers that had been building up over the past couple of nights had mysteriously vanished. He found a cold paper bag of chips and tried one hopefully, only to spit it out again with a grimace. Apparently he was going to have to work for his breakfast.

He bounded down the metal steps to the hall of the community centre, pleasantly surprised at the complete lack of pain he felt. He tried running, skidding around the corners on the polished floor, whooping when he felt only the slightest sting. He stopped before the vending machine, squaring up to it, looking it up and down.

"C'mon now, baby," he smirked. "Let's not be difficult..."

He placed a hand on either side and began to shake it violently. The screaming bangs of the machine rocking from side to side echoed through the centre, bounced off the walls around him.

And, soon enough, Nathan found himself rewarded with two packets of crisps and a mars bar. He held them aloft in victory, span around, bowed extravagantly to the invisible crowd that would surely be cheering at this moment had he been graced with an audience. Chomping loudly on his breakfast, he sauntered off down the corridor, checking his reflection in every other window he passed. He looked good. Still pale, still tired, but good. Alive. He hesitated, mouth full of dry, salty crisps, and then abruptly changed direction and headed for the bathroom instead. He placed his feast by the sink, inspecting his appearance a little more carefully under the harsh, bright lights.

_Moment of truth_.

Slowly, dreading every second, he dragged his shirt over his head and faced his reflection once more in the dirty, clouded mirrors. The ugly wound that had once glared rawly from his chest had faded, shrunk, as if it had been blotted away. Instead of red it was now a dull purple, still flecked with dried blood, still tender to his probing fingers, but it had healed so much... Nathan turned and craned his neck back to see his back, noting the darker, cleaner wound between his shoulder blades. Perhaps a little worse, but still well healed considering that he had only recently had a metal post shoved through him. He turned again, running a hand over the ridge that marked the beginning of his scar. Maybe even that would fade with time. He flipped on the taps and filled his hands with hot water, splashing it over himself to remove those last, persistent clumps of blood. Practically invisible...

_I really am immortal._

He grinned, suddenly hit with a wild urge to shoot himself in the head as an experiment. Or perhaps allow himself to be hit by a car, and then rise again before everyone amidst startled gasps, women throwing themselves at his feet in awe, eyes full of admiration and tears for his seemingly inescapable fate... Well, perhaps that was a little unlikely. But it was clear that he had been blessed with the best power by far. Who cared about rewinding time or turning invisible when you could live forever? He let out a bark of laughter, reached for his shirt again. Now, at least, he had no reason to hide himself from Kelly. Once his scar had faded, he would surely be as amazingly sexy and irresistible to her as he had always been...

He strode out of the bathroom again, crisps and mars bar juggled in his grasp, whistling loudly as he went. He almost skipped back up to his small 'camp' and wriggled into jeans, a new shirt and his ancient trainers. By this time he had finished both packets of crisps and was starting on the chocolate bar as he dropped downstairs again, taking them two at a time. He had barely left the hall when a sudden bang hit his ears - the sound of the glass doors slamming shut. He slowed to a halt, pausing mid-chew. Someone had arrived. He moved softly to the corner and glanced around it, holding his breath. Long hair, scraped back into a high pony tail. A mini skirt and pink hoodie. Heavily made up eyes. His heart leapt - Kelly. He pulled away, flattening himself against the wall, waiting. She walked straight past him, continuing on towards the changing rooms, to tired to notice him or his thoughts. He smirked, barely able to contain his sniggers until she had vanished into the changing rooms. He followed only when she was out of sight, walking slowly so as not to cause any noise. He reached the door, pressed his ear against it. He could hear the clang of a locker, the screech of metal. He waited a while longer, eager to give the impression that she was alone. Then he silently opened the door and slipped into the changing room. He crept through the lines of lockers and stuck his head around the row in which Kelly was fixing her hair, already dressed in her orange jumpsuit. He smothered a laugh and inched out, stepping towards her as quietly as he could. She didn't notice. She looked tired, he realised. He seemed to have a vague memory of her being there the night before, staying late, talking to him as he fell asleep.

She began to turn, and he threw himself forwards.

"Kelly!"

She let out a shriek, lashing out with her fist. He ducked the blow, cackling wildly.

"Hey, hey! Don't put me back in the ground yet!"

She froze, eyes wide in surprise, her mouth open. Then her gaze filled with fury and her hand whipped towards him again, this time catching him on the ear. "Wotcha think ya doing?" she demanded shrilly. "Ya nearly gave me a heart attack, you dick!"

He grinned, threw his arms around her in a crushing hug, effectively trapping her arms before she could try to hit him a third time. "Ah, Kelly!" he sighed, ignoring her struggles. "You lift my hopes and then throw me away, how am I to cope with this terrible heartache I feel at your cold, cold words..."

"Gerroff me!"

She stopped struggling, a smile finally emerging onto her face. She looked up at him, caught in his arms, and he felt her cool breath on his cheek. His heart skipped a beat. Her eyes flicked from his gaze to his lips and back again.

"Ya seem better."

"Yep," he said proudly. "Good as brand-spanking-new."

Relief rushed briefly across her face, and she looked away quickly. He felt his grin widen, and she glanced at him.

"Wot?" she demanded, wriggling free at last. He released her. "Stop gawking at me, will ya?"

He reached for her arm, slid his hand up to her cheek. Her eyes widened. He wet his lips. _Get this one right, _he told himself furiously. _Don't screw this bit up. _He inched a little closer to her, bending his head. She tilted her face upwards, her lips parting... and the door to the changing rooms bounced open. They both flinched, and Nathan let out a snarl of frustration. He whirled around, ready to pelt whoever had disturbed them with abuse fit for the lowest of the low, and found himself glaring at the stranger he had encountered all that time ago in the corridors. Their new probation worker, it had to be. He looked him up and down, curled his lip in a smirk. The man's eyebrow arched.

"Who're you?" he said flatly.

"Me? _Me?" _Nathan folded his arms, eyes wide in disbelief. "Nathan, remember? The handsome one? Jesus, you're even worse than the last sucker we had lurking around here."

"Nathan?" the man glanced at Kelly for confirmation. "They said you were dead?"

"Really?" Nathan asked, feigning surprise. He pressed his hands to his neck, looked up in mock amazement. "Apparently not. Besides, could a dead man do _this?"_

He span on one foot, sliding into a moonwalk, aware of both Kelly and the probation worker's stares on him as he twirled again, jerked his hips - and turned face-first into Kelly's locker door. He heard her smother a laugh, scowled as he turned face them again, rubbing his aching nose. He lifted his chin, meeting the probation worker's amused gaze with firm defiance. The man looked at Kelly, sniggered under his breath.

"Well, then, I'll put you back on the system then..."

As he turned to leave, Simon and Alisha appeared, closely followed by Curtis. Nathan felt a flash of annoyance at their whoops of disbelief and joyful greetings. Apparently fate was set against him having any kind of moment with Kelly at all. As he resigned himself to a day of company, Kelly's hand slipped briefly into his own. He didn't need the ability to read minds to know exactly what she was thinking. And that thought set his stomach clenching in excitement and a grin sliding back onto his face.

_Later._

_The End._

**Thanks for reading! Bit of a shorter chapter for the ending, didn't really feel like there was much more to say. Can't wait for the next series of Misfits! Hope you enjoyed it.**

**SUPRNTRAL LVR.**


End file.
